Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Emma
The water runs a little longer than it needs to.
Neither of us mentions it, lost in our own thoughts.
It’s warm and steady, wrapping around me in a comforting embrace. For the first time since I opened that box in my kitchen, my body doesn’t feel like it’s vibrating with leftover panic.
Hawk stands behind me the entire time, one hand lightly braced against the tile beside my shoulder, as if he’s afraid I might slip away or simply vanish into the steam. The warmth of the water flows over my skin, washing away the remnants of chaos, and I lean into the moment, letting it envelop me.
When he finally turns the water off, the sudden quiet feels strange, like a sudden shift from a bustling street to a deserted alley. The steam hangs thick around us, creating a hazy curtain that makes everything feel more intimate.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The world outside seems far away, and it’s just us in this small sanctuary.
Then Hawk reaches for a towel—a big one, soft and plush. He wraps it around my shoulders with a careful touch, making sure it doesn’t brush too hard against the bruises on my throat. “Easy,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, laced with a tenderness that makes my heart swell.
He speaks to me like I’m something fragile, and part of me wants to laugh a little because I’ve never seen myself that way.
But right now? My ribs ache with every breath, and my head feels like someone dropped a brick inside it.
When I try to stand, my legs tremble beneath me, quaking with uncertainty.
So maybe tonight, I am fragile.
Hawk dries my hair gently, blotting it instead of rubbing. Every movement is slow, careful, patient. “Think you can stand?” he asks quietly, his eyes searching mine for reassurance.
“I can try.”
The second I swing my legs off the bench, the room tilts slightly, and I feel the ground shift beneath me. Hawk’s hands are instantly at my waist, his grip tightening just enough to steady me. “Whoa,” he says, concern threading through his voice. “I’ve got you.”
I lean into him without thinking, my forehead pressing lightly against his shoulder. His skin is warm, solid—the kind of comfort I didn’t know I needed.
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling a rush of embarrassment for needing him so much.
His hand slides up my back slowly, a soothing gesture that sends warmth through me. “You stop apologizing,” he says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong tonight.”
I swallow, the weight of his words sitting heavy in my chest. He reaches for another towel and wraps it loosely around my shoulders before stepping out of the shower. “Sit here a second,” he instructs gently, guiding me back to the bench just outside the shower.
I comply, grateful for the chance to rest. Honestly, my legs are still trembling, and I can feel the fatigue creeping into my bones.
He disappears for a moment, and I take the opportunity to collect myself.
When he comes back, he’s holding a pile of clothes—his clothes.
A black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that look enormous in his hands.
“You’re not putting your clothes back on,” he states simply, and I don’t argue. The thought of putting those blood-soaked clothes back on makes my stomach twist in protest.
Hawk kneels in front of me, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s treating a delicate flower. His eyes lift to mine, and there’s a softness there that makes me feel safe. “Alright,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna take this slow.”
I nod, ready to follow his lead.
He helps guide my feet into the sweatpants first, the fabric soft and warm against my skin. But when I try to stand again so he can pull them up, my ribs protest sharply, sending a small hiss escaping my lips.
Hawk freezes immediately, concern flooding his features. “Too much?”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, but he’s already adjusting. His arm slides carefully around my back, allowing me to lean into him while he pulls the waistband up the rest of the way. The pants hang low on my hips—baggy but comfortable, a cocoon of warmth.
Then he lifts the t-shirt, and I can’t help but wince as I move my arms. “Arms up a little,” he instructs quietly, his tone gentle.
“Sorry,” he mutters instantly when I flinch.
“You didn’t do anything,” I reassure him, and he carefully pulls the shirt down over my head. The cotton is soft and forgiving against my skin, and it falls halfway down my thighs, the sleeves swallowing my hands.
I glance down at myself, and I can’t help but smile a little at the sight. I’m drowning in his clothes, and yet, somehow it feels… safe.
Hawk studies me for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly as if he’s wrestling with something unsaid. “What?” I ask quietly, curiosity piqued.
“Nothing,” he replies, but the word sounds rough, as if he’s swallowing something heavy.
He reaches out and gently brushes a damp strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary. “You ready to go back to bed?”
I nod, my heart swelling at his care.
He doesn’t even ask if I want to walk this time. He simply slides one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me effortlessly. This time, I don’t protest. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek—a comforting rhythm that calms me.
The hallway feels shorter when you’re not bleeding out on the floor. The medical room door opens, and Hawk carries me back inside, lowering me onto the bed with the utmost care, as if I’m something breakable.
Once I’m settled, he pulls the blanket up around me, and the warmth sinks into my bones almost instantly. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until now, and I nestle deeper into the fabric.
Hawk sits back down in the chair beside the bed, exactly where he was before. His hand finds mine again without hesitation, as if it belongs there, and I can’t help but squeeze it gently.
For a while, we just sit like that, the quiet between us thick but not uncomfortable—just heavy with unspoken emotions. My eyes drift over his face, taking in the way he still looks wrecked, dark circles under his eyes and tension in his jaw.
“You should sleep,” I murmur, feeling a mix of concern and affection.
He shakes his head immediately. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” I point out, my voice laced with worry.
His thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles, as if trying to soothe away my concern. “I’ll sleep later.”
“Later when?”
“When you’re better.”
My chest tightens a little at the thought. “You can’t just sit here forever.”
“Watch me,” he replies, the stubbornness in his voice making a tiny smile tug at my lips.
Just then, a knock sounds quietly on the door, breaking the moment. Hawk’s head lifts. “Yeah?”
The door opens slowly, and Ghost steps inside. He pauses when he sees me awake, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Well,” he mutters, “look who decided not to die tonight.”
I blink at him, a mixture of relief and sarcasm bubbling up. “Comforting.”
Ghost snorts softly, a smirk playing on his lips. “How you feelin’, kid?”
“Sore,” I admit, wincing slightly as I shift.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding sagely. “Doc said that’d happen.”
My eyes flick between him and Hawk, the weight of recent events pressing heavily on my mind. “The guy… at my house.”
Ghost’s expression shifts slightly, sharpening with concern. “What about him?”
I swallow carefully, my throat still aching from the memory. “I think he was working alone.”
Hawk and Ghost both look at me, their expressions turning serious. “What makes you say that?” Hawk asks quietly.
I take a slow breath to gather my thoughts. “He said some things… before he attacked me.”
Ghost steps a little further into the room, his interest piqued. “Like what?”
My fingers tighten slightly around Hawk’s hand, seeking comfort. “He kept saying I embarrassed him,” I explain softly. “That he got kicked out of his club because of what happened in the parking lot.”
The two men exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them.
“He was pissed,” I continue, my voice steady. “Like… really pissed. It didn’t sound like someone sent him. It sounded like he came after me because he got cut.”
The room is quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of my words. Then Ghost nods slowly. “That actually tracks.”
Hawk’s jaw tightens at the implication. “Steel Vipers don’t take humiliation well,” he mutters.
“So he came after me himself,” I say quietly, the realization settling heavily in the air.
Ghost nods again, his expression serious. “Looks that way.”
Hawk’s thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles again, a comforting gesture. “Then he made the biggest mistake of his life,” he says softly, his tone filled with quiet determination.
Ghost glances between us, sensing the tension. “I’ll still keep digging,” he says. “Just in case.”
Hawk nods once, his expression resolute. “Good.”
Ghost looks back at me, his expression softening slightly. “Get some rest, Emma.”
With that, he slips out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, leaving us in the comforting silence once more.
The exhaustion creeps back in slowly, a heavy blanket settling over me. My body feels heavy again, and my eyelids droop, fighting against the pull of sleep.
“Hawk?” I murmur quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, Trouble?”
“I’m really tired.”
His hand tightens gently around mine, a reassuring anchor in the quiet. “Then sleep.”
I swallow, feeling vulnerable. “Will you take me to bed?”
He leans forward slightly, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles, a sweet gesture that sends warmth coursing through me. “You’re already in bed, baby.”
I shake my head weakly, a sense of longing rising within me. “No.”
My voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of my need. “I want to be in your bed.”
His expression changes instantly, shifting to something softer, warmer, but concern quickly follows. “I’d love that,” he says quietly. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
A tear slips down my temple before I can stop it, an unexpected release of emotion. “Please,” I plead, my voice cracking.
My eyes meet his, and he stares at me for a moment, as if weighing the decision. Then his hand comes up gently, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “Okay,” he murmurs softly.
The way he says it makes my chest feel warm all over again, a promise that wraps around us like the blanket cocooning me.